


Royal

by MountainRose



Series: Tumblr Prompts [18]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Mental States, Caretaking, Competence Porn, Exposition, Hand Feeding, M/M, No actual porn, Omega Tony Stark, Queen Bee Tony, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: Tony's a one-in-a-million guy, and he's got the pheromones to prove it.





	1. Chapter 1

The tabloids started calling him ‘queen’ after he took over SI from Stane, after Iron Man, after he stopped using suppressants. He’d never liked them, always been suspicious that they kept him from...doing something. 

He’d been right, of course; looking up the ‘queen’ gender had explained so much.

For the first time, he had goals he could actually live up to, something to aspire to be; a good man and a good queen. He set out to prove himself to...mostly himself, actually. He’d made the world see what he could do on the freeway already; ‘hero’ was a much easier title to maintain than ‘queen’. 

Doors opened to heroes; scared people would actually let you leave that hundred dollar tip, call you on that IOU. The Maria Stark foundation had never been so busy; no matter how many homeless kids he ran into ( _searched out_ ) or veterans he pulled out of dumpsters ( _ even literally, once _ ) he could take them to the foundation and help. 

Tony wanted to hide from the press, do his thing without having to see his meagre efforts dissected, newspapers making money off his attempts to help -- but JARVIS insisted he should lead by example, that other companies might contribute. So Tony ignored it, and grit his teeth when the paps hung around the abuse help center, and stood between the cameras and the kids. Even with the attention he could help, though; oozing queen pheromones, comforting enraged teenagers and drinking really awful coffee with the other addicts. 

The heart of it, the thing that held Tony the tightest and pulled him across the continent to New York, was a respite center: six big rooms in an old industrial building, where packs went to recover. Some of them were dealing with tragedies -- deaths in the pack, loss of the lead pair -- and some were struggling with exactly what Tony was. 

Coming home from a war zone.

He couldn’t stay too long, he ran the risk of adopting them as sub-packs and they didn’t need to be tied to him that way, but it helped. PTSD was a thing, and just seeing them was a relief. Occasionally someone would say something like ‘that smell, right? The dust? Comes right back,’ and Tony would crumple and just feel so relieved that he would leak scent all over the joint. The military packs knew that scent, looked at him with those cold, all-seeing eyes, but they’d never said anything. The more times they looked at him like that, the more he understood how deep it was, how the...blank cold was something...non-judgmental and neutral. Maybe he’d be able to talk about his dreams sometime, not now, but maybe sometime. 

But he wasn’t there for himself, even if it was good in some mystical psychological way; he went to help. He went when the center manager called, and his presence settled raging emotions when they got too high. Nervous and new at this whole game, having to work hard at controlling his unsuppressed social scent, Tony would sit in the corner of the therapy room and try and help them talk it out without damping their feeling so far that they went to sleep. They were always so tired, he wanted them to be able to rest, but that instinct wasn’t the best use of their time there. He resisted. 

Pepper was his guiding light; he’d never had this much free rein before and she kept his eyes open, stopped him from forging blindly ahead with one project when there were five more like it, and they needed a better strategy. She was the one who developed the rules for becoming SI Pack, and she was the one who made sure that every last engineer and intern knew what they were getting into before they started flirting with Tony’s hormones.

She had always been good with interpersonal politics.

His spare time had never been so  _ good _ before. Even the days where he came home limp and exhausted, brain swimming in reflected angst, it was better than anything he’d had before. He felt alive, whole, all that mystical wellfulness bullshit. He was helping. It mattered.

Also: no more hiding.

Contrary to everything Obie had ever said, no one penalised SI for an omega leader; contracts started coming in thicker and faster. Google had them build the Nexus ‘Pi’, Dell switched from Intel to Stark. The small hospitals started buying Stark medical equipment, and steadily, orders started building up. No one had wanted to buy his remote surgery robots when he was a weapons manufacturer, but now he’d come out as a queen it was a different matter entirely. 

It felt...strange. Fraudulent. The robots  _ were _ designed using weapons money, there was no reason for people to be more comfortable around them now than there had been before, and yet. It helped him feel less of a fraud when he started using the development team’s names as product branding. The Stark logo was still there, brazen as ever, but the names inside it varied and Tony wasn’t taking all the credit for his employees' work any more. 

Unless something came out of his own two hands, his own development suite, it didn’t have his name on it. It caused a few confused emails, and a weird as fuck talking-head segment, but the media came around eventually. They weathered it.

Their share value clawed up out of the post-weapons-dump hole it’d fallen into. Investment picked up. He was the omega who managed to queen half of Wall Street; it sure was something.

The Iron Man prosthesis collected dings and bullet holes on three continents, and it wasn’t easy, but it was  _ good. _

He was on top of the world. 

And then someone tried to invade his city. 

\-----

He knew, the second he stepped onto the helicarrier’s bridge, that he would be taking the Avengers home with him. The combined loss-stress scent coming off the Captain and Banner was enough to make him want to mother them. Their scents were familiar from the shelters he helped at, scents he associated with black bruises and broken packs. He could feel them cracking, their needs bleeding through into starvation. One conversation and he knew -- he recognised the feeling he had for them, even Natasha with their history. The captain was prickly as fuck, and Tony couldn’t exactly grasp why, but oh he was gonna work on that. The Hulk... well, he might have to wait while he got his hormones around what Bruce was, gender-role-wise. Hell of a thing.

And Thor... He'd thought he'd imagined the twisting confusion of Loki's scent, but Thor was... He wasn’t typed, his scent was lacking markers. But he flowed easily into an ally-alpha role in the conversation. Pretty soon, they didn’t have time to worry about it.

The feeling of incipient ownership stole over Tony, the potential to make them a real team, even while they argued and blustered and yelled at each other in the lab. The world blue-shifted, like a star hurtling towards the viewer at high speed and there was a moment when Tony considered blooding himself to draw the fierce roil of hormones into sharp focus-- 

But he didn't need to, because someone blew up the fucking floor. Steve was there in seconds, even before the flames blew past him, and hauled him to his feet away from the collapsing floor. Tony felt the signals snap back into place;  _ alpha, protect, command, direct _ , but Steve wasn't the one giving orders, and Tony felt the queen in him resonating with Steve in a terrifying, basal harmonic. 

This man was his now.

He lost touch with the betas, and Thor was too far away, but Steve was with him and  _ his _ and he was going to make this man a pack, and in the midst of the fighting, he knew that meant binding this ridiculous team together with his sweat and blood and heart.

That meant not letting the damn tower get  _ vaporised _ in the fuckups of a frightened security agency.

\-----

Lying on the pavement afterwards, visor gone and filters moot, he felt  _ Pack _ snap into place. Possessive, protective instincts, as strong as the day he’d killed Obadiah, got him up onto his feet. 

Cap was smiling. Dusty, sprawled on his ass on the pavement, and beat all to hell with a crater where his belly plating should be, but he was smiling. It was cracked ‘round the edges, like his face had frozen solid and needed thawing out before smiling was anything but painful, but Tony knew it was a victory.

The Hulk... The Hulk was beautifully simple; a loud Alpha, tough and strong and painfully kind, and Tony could smell the  _ hold-protect-shelter _ rolling off him, even through the smoke and dust. 

“Alright, Avengers, on your feet.” He was the only one standing. Thor was kneeling, looking up at him like he was sunshine. Hulk was semi-upright, crouching and poking at Tony’s-- oh, hey! Faceplate! Hulk picked it up before obeying Tony’s edict, and held it delicately up to the light. Steve... Well, who knew what was going on behind that fading smile, but Steve understood battlefields, he knew how lucky they were, and he looked at Tony like he wanted to hug the living daylights out of him. His fingers twitched, reaching towards him, and Tony grabbed his hand; even gauntlet on glove felt amazing and  _ fitting _ . They’d talk about hugs later, Tony thought they might just be even nicer. 

“Steve, get  _ up _ , it’s time to move.” He tugged on the hand he’d captured, and Steve rolled upwards, swaying when he got to the top. Tony steadied him with a move straight out of the omega handbook, tucking his shoulder under Steve’s arm. “Has anyone reported in? My comms are down.”

And that was how Tony became queen of the first superhero team on the planet. 

He got them home, he fed them, and he patched up the holes in their stupid hides. Steve was the worst, but Clint came a close second, and Tony called up a fellow omega from SI’s first aider list. He didn’t want to put another alpha in the room with Steve hurt, and all his betas were busy with the jobs that let them handle the trauma. The other omegas were holding up to the world-shaking stress the best; with packs of betas around them, they’d been out of danger and able to see what the fuck was going on more clearly. Tony knew his pheromones were running rampant in the building, nudging and energizing people, and he hoped that at least for now, it was a good thing. 

He had tried to hold back, but it was futile. Every time Steve or Clint hissed in pain, he bristled, and his mouth tingled with the animalistic urge to lick them clean. He really was at risk of putting them both to sleep without their consent, so he resisted his instincts. 

He wasn't sure how effective it was they weren’t resisting it at all from their end, and Tony’s control was shit; Clint passed out asleep multiple times.

There was a lot of work to do, enough that he set up a control center out of the Tower lobby. No one would fight on a queen’s ground, not even with emotions running alien-invasion high. It helped that the police, the National Guard? They  _ loved _ Steve. They’d do whatever Steve told them. And his orders were good; Tony got him maps and coloured pencils, and he was re-routing convoys of cleanup crews non-stop for hours, new problems coming in as soon as the old ones were fixed. In between rallying ambulances and fire crews, and helping the pop-up hospital manage shock patients, Tony kept him steady with judicious application of cereal bars and water. He even let Tony change the cool pack on his stomach without making sad faces. The burn was bad, and with his metabolism being what it was Steve was relying on Tony’s o-biology to give him pain relief; it wasn’t ideal. Tony was a pretty strong omega, but... He iced it and apologized for the cold by getting Steve’s scent on his cheek.

Tony’s SI pack was so suddenly busy, he had to make new chains of command all over the organization; they need cranes and vehicles and surveyors.  _ He _ was so busy, he forgot that Thor wasn’t typed, until he commented about Tony’s ‘unique leadership style’. He’d been taking orders from Tony all day, and he looked... radiantly happy? Tony didn’t understand how anything in this situation could make him look like that. 

Looking out over the heaving lobby the morning after the fight, the chaos almost completely unabated, Tony swayed slightly. He needed to eat, and drag Steve away for at least an hour or two of sleep. 

They wouldn’t be done repairing his city for  _ years,  _ he had to pace himself. No more pushing through to dawn, there was too much work here to burn out on the first week.

He flopped onto the couch at the end of each day after that and pretended to be a cooked noodle, because _holy fuck_ did they get shit done. Steve was a quiet Alpha, a good-of-the-pack Alpha, and that was the Team. That was the City _._ That was Tony. Steve was like a gun in hand, dangerous? Yes. Powerful, yes. But focused. He bowed to Tony’s political maneuvering with the grace of a professional, and stood at Tony’s shoulder in meetings, on rubble-strewn streets, in front of appeal cameras. Like it was his place. He looked comfortable, like all he ever wanted was to be the good behind someone. 

The touch of Steve’s fingertips to the small of Tony’s back gave him the determination to  _ keep fighting _ when the idiots in the Senate demanded the Avengers pay for damages. It was an impossible ask, a get out of jail free card for a government in favour of using its money to build weapons instead of homes. The Avengers weren’t even a  _ legal entity _ , they had no capital and no infrastructure. It was Steve’s solid morality, bolstering him up, that kept him from taking the entire team( _ pack) _ overseas out of  _ rank frustration with those idiots _ .

It meant that when Tony was exhausted from too many phone calls with too many assholes, it was Steve who came and oozed pheromones at him until Tony calmed enough to submit to petting. In retaliation, he demanded feeding behaviour so feral, it was obscene.

\-----

“Do you want pizza? One of the local places brought a stack of pies as Tribute.” Steve rattled the boxes at him, and Tony’s mouth watered. 

He nuzzled into Steve’s shoulder and pushed him into the couch, enjoying the smell of polite, back-seat Alpha. “...‘s not called tribute anymore, it’s just... _ gratis _ .”

Steve huffed in amusement, and Tony got a whiff of the  _ not-territory _ stress Steve had been kicking out on the Helicarrier, but a nip of the thin skin at Steve’s throat sorted that out. They settled onto the sofa, him and Steve and Clint, and ate pizza. Clint was ravenous, he didn’t have any time for social  _ anything _ , but Steve...Steve smelled like touch-starvation still, like he was dying for some bonding time. So Tony insisted on Steve hand-feeding him. Steve let him lick his fingers after each bite, and Tony started to smell himself coming off Steve; pack bonding was happening, and while they still hadn’t  _ talked  _ about it, Tony could feel Steve's acceptance in every antiquated ritual, the little tilt of Steve’s hand and the soft animal sounds in the back of his throat.

He was Home, it was official, he gave up on modern practices and rubbed his scent all over Steve’s hand. He’d get to the others soon too, even Natasha, though damnit, he’d use his words.

“It is tribute, though; you’re queen, only one in the city. It’s right you get thanks after...” 

Tony clicked his tongue and let Steve’s tightening grip turn him into a pliant, happy pile of omega contentment. “Don’t think about it, just feed me pizza. It’s not cheese-in-the-crust is it?” 

It wasn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve saw him first. 

He blamed the slightly sunken TV nook for missing him at first, because Tony was lying on his side, loosely curled, on the carpet down there. The couch hid him from the rest of the open-plan space. Whether this was deliberate or not, Steve couldn’t tell, because Tony smelled like nothing much; sleepy maybe, a little tightly wound. He’d been away for a while, jetting about on a business crisis.

“Welcome back Tony, you okay?” 

He was watching the sunrise, eyes shining in the cerise and pale yellow. He blinked, but didn’t respond to Steve’s question. It wasn’t...that strange? But it felt off to Steve; even if Tony’d been working too hard to sleep while he was away, he should have crashed the minute he lay down and shut up. But this...

Steve crouched, out of the way of Tony’s nice view, and rested a hand on his side. His heartbeat thumped strong and regular under Steve’s palm, and he was breathing steadily. Baffled, Steve dropped to his butt and stroked down Tony’s back gently. 

“Hey babe... do you want anything?” he asked, hoping that Tony would grumble something about donuts or sleep, or  _ something _ , but he stayed firmly quiet. He did take a deeper breath, though, his back expanding under Steve’s touch. Steve waited, turning to look at Tony’s view, then sighed too.

“What’s going on here, Tony? C’mon...” 

Slowly, like his hand weighed more than he could lift, Tony covered Steve’s hand and tugged it down. Steve went, of course, fitting his knees behind Tony’s and curling around his back, making himself as big and warm as he knew how. 

“Better?”

Tony nodded, slow, like he was moving through syrup. Steve’s throat tightened and he pulled Tony tight against his chest so he could feel every heartbeat, every breath. Mesmerized and sad, Steve settled in to wait out whatever this was. 

They were a long way from Tony’s yearly cycle, so it couldn’t be that, and there was plenty of tithe coming in... Not that Tony noticed, not really. He wasn’t that kind of O; he was already richer than half the city and more prone to giving it away. But he liked the kids' drawings, and the people who sent nest-goods always got personal thank you notes.  _ Bedding _ , Steve reminded himself. The names had all changed.

After a while, his thoughts turned to treacle too, a slow and dreamlike reflection of Tony’s. He’d been headed out on his run, he was glad he’d seen Tony at all; no one else would be up for hours.

\----

“Funny place for cuddle-time, boys.”

Steve blinked up at her, saturated in Tony’s apathy, and made a sad face.  _ Help? _ Natasha blinked back, slow, like he was a cat she was telling she loved. He frowned at her, then settled back down with his nose in Tony’s hair.

“Not using our words today, huh?” 

Tony shook his head slowly, giving off a sad, lonely scent. 

Steve squeezed him tighter and Tony wound their fingers together.

“Okay, Stevie, you with me?” 

Steve nodded, shifting so he could look at her with one eye. 

“Relocate up onto the sofa, honey. I’m going to call in reinforcements.” She smiled like the cautious morning sun and Steve nodded again. 

He managed to pull back enough to move, to shake himself free of Tony’s feelings, and slid his arms under Tony’s back and knees, hefting them both backwards and up. Tony rolled towards him, hands loose on his chest and eyes closed now that he didn’t have the sunrise to occupy them. Steve settled them sideways on the couch, leaning against the arm with Tony against the back cushions and his head lolling limply on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve wished he’d just say something, he didn’t mind what. 

“Hey, Tony? Hey. I missed you, apparently three days is too long for me.” 

Was that a snuffle? He looked down and, yeah, Tony was nosing slightly against the collar of his shirt, breathing his scent and starting to give off pack smell in return. Oh.

Steve brought his hand up slowly, not a threat, easy, and stroked along Tony’s neck from collar bone to ear. A heady throb of scent welled out and Tony finally made a sound. It was a moan, quiet and mostly air but a good moan, and Tony stretched his neck up, mouthing along Steve’s neck in the same place to reinforce the call. 

Somewhere behind them, pots and pans clattered; there was someone close enough to get the message. Tony relaxed, his forehead coming to rest against Steve’s neck in a very distracting way, and the packmate came to them obediently. 

“Alright, alright, you two, what is it?” Clint asked. He leaned over the back of the couch and stuck his face briefly into Tony’s nape for a deep breath. Steve nibbled at his ear while he was close enough, still working out what words were.

“Found him,” he managed, once Clint rocked back over the couch back again. “Like this.” 

“Sir chose to watch the sunrise from a rather unorthodox perspective, Agent Barton,” JARVIS interjected, to Steve’s satisfaction. “His trip was rather stressful, so when he appeared to fall asleep, I felt he was best left. However, it appears he was not asleep so much as...” 

“Pining.” Clint smiled with one half of his face while the other stayed sad, and ran his fingers through Tony’s hair to anoint himself before he headed back to the kitchen. “Natasha’s rounding everyone up, we’ll be there in a minute. I’m just getting some food together.” 

Oh, food. Steve’s stomach growled in approval and Tony shifted slightly, his scent signaling interest too. He craned his neck to look over the back of the couch, but Tony made a quiet hum of displeasure at being jostled against the couch and he subsided, curling around the O and sheltering him from the world with his chest.

“Mmokay, ‘s okay, Tony.” 

Tony looked dubious, keeping a long and assessing eye contact until Steve nuzzled into his scent and got a stripe of it across his forehead. When he pulled back, Tony was blushing and reached up with a slow and heavy hand to rub the silvery shine into Steve’s skin. 

Steve grinned like an idiot and did it again; Tony was always shy about his scent leaving a wet trail, but he loved it, who wouldn’t? This time Tony mushed his whole face with his hand, smearing the scent all over Steve’s nose and left cheekbone, then wiping his hand on Steve’s throat.

“Alright, pack it in. We gotta get some food in you both,” Clint said, somehow having gotten behind Steve while he was distracted. The tray in his hands smelled almost as good as Tony, buttery and delicious. Behind him, Nat was tugging a sleepy looking Rhodey wearing fluffy pale pink pants towards the couch and trailing Pepper, who looked almost as exhausted as Tony. 

“Tony, look,” Steve murmured, turning his shoulder to show them to him. Tony engaged his limbs with a slow, clumsy wriggle and got himself up enough to lie on Steve’s chest, cheek over his nipple. Not that Steve was overly aware of the location of his nipples compared to Tony’s mouth, obviously.

“Peprrrrr...” he said, in a small voice that was mostly tongue roll. 

She looked over, blinking herself more alert. “Tony! I didn’t think you’d be talking, hey there.” She came over, all soft, flowing cotton in her sleep clothes. Steve reached for her as soon as she rounded the coffee table, and pulled her to the couch next to his hip, winding an arm around her waist to make himself perfectly clear. Tony wanted, so Tony got. That was how it worked right now. Tony wasn’t very good at wanting, though. 

Pepper went through the ritual of getting Tony’s scent, then kissed him gently on the cheek. Steve too got the bonus of her warm weight braced against his side and a soft press of dry lips. The feeling of pack started to slide into place.

In some ways, it made holding Tony’s feelings easier, a weight shared, but it also made him less inclined to remember his appointments for the day. Everyone here knew what Tony needed, and it started with cuddles on the couch, and kisses on the cheek, but didn’t end there. 

“Are you hungry, Tony?” Steve murmured, the smell of some kind of fresh bread making him aware of the food again. He thought Tony was -- he did have that pale, unhealthy tinge about him, that made Steve think of long marches on too little food -- but Tony didn’t respond, not even to nuzzle at Steve. He just closed his eyes and breathed in the pack smell starting to rise.

Steve sighed and looked pleadingly at Pepper; he wanted Tony to eat  _ something _ . And, and to be himself. The quiet was awful and infectious, making the whole pack whisper with a church-like reverence for silence.

“Okay, Steve. I’ll sort it out, don’t make that face at me,” she chided, patting him on the forearm, which was still curled around her waist.

Steve felt himself blush and coughed to cover it, fooling exactly no one. 

“What would you like, Tony?” she asked softly, tugging just as gently at his fringe. Tony made a very quiet, open mouthed ‘ahh’ noise, barely more than a rumble in his throat, and Pepper smiled like he’d spoken a whole paragraph.

She patted him gently on the head and turned away to murmur with Clint. Tony looked out at them all, counting them off one by one; Rhodey falling back to sleep on the opposite couch, Natasha sitting quietly, watching everything. Clint, handling the food deftly, Pepper next to him. Thor? No Thor, a sadness; Bruce, over by the side table, making a hot drink. Steve felt Tony acknowledge each one, a shift in his scent that made each of them perk up, turn a little more of their focus towards him. 

Tony wasn’t usually so classical, but he was full of...need. 

Pepper’s eyes were sad, but understanding, somehow; oh, good. At least someone knew what was wrong with him. She held out the plate she’d put together for Steve to feed to Tony, and he knew what to do to look after him; she could handle the problem, he would manage the cure. Of course, Tony was managing the cure just fine, his scent telling them everything they needed to know. He crept up Steve’s chest, sniffing at the food, or possibly at Pepper’s hand, and smelling delicately of want, very faintly.

Oh, yes, good. A rich custard brioche, and a bunch of fruit pieces, perfect. Also a side of bacon? Tony wasn’t a big fan, too much protein made his stomach unhappy, and also, hash browns? Tony very much did not like that much fat in the mornings. 

Confused and feeling vaguely betrayed, Steve refused to take the plate, curling his arm over Tony’s waist instead. Tony made a soft sound of confusion, tucking into the space Steve had sheltered obediently  _ \--Tony wasn’t supposed to be obedient, this was wrong, so strange, queens didn’t  _ do _ this. _

Pepper sighed. “You have to eat four mouthfuls for every one you feed Tony, okay?” 

Steve blushed and uncurled. “I can wait, it’s fine--”

She cut him off with a smooth gesture, which Tony followed with a languid head tilt, leaning forwards to touch Pepper’s shirt with his fingertips. “No, Steve, he’s a slow eater at the best of times, you may as well join him. Assume the position, soldier.” 

Steve grumbled and pushed himself to sitting, taking most of Tony’s weight in the process, when he clung to his shoulders. “I know what that one really means now, Ms. Pepper,” he grouched, accepting the plate. 

Tony wormed his way up Steve’s chest a few inches, settling his heavy limbs into the spaces around Steve and lying loose. Pepper drifted out of his awareness and he chose a piece of fruit to start Tony off with. A greenish pale cube of melon was perfect, and he offered it to Tony’s lips. Tony lipped at it like he wasn’t quite sure how to use his mouth right now, and tasted it with tiny hints of tongue before he allowed Steve to put it in his mouth. 

Slowly, like it was an effort to move his jaw, he rolled it around his mouth and chewed; savouring it like he always did, only at half-speed. Pepper nudged him and he begrudgingly ate some of his own breakfast while Tony ruminated on the merits of the melon. Steve watched as pleasure settled into Tony’s features in place of the sleepy blankness. This was better, so much. 

He tore off a piece of bread and offered him that next. This time, Tony lapped off the custard drizzle before he took the morsel, laving Steve’s fingers afterwards. Once it was all gone, Tony kept licking at Steve’s fingers, enamored by the taste of him as much as the lingering sweetness.

Bite by bite, Tony ate a whole portion and with each swallow, a little more colour came back to his cheeks. Gradually, his limbs looked less heavy, his eyes brighter, and he moved a little quicker. 

“There you go...” Natasha murmured, Rhodey’s feet on her lap and a mug of coffee still steaming in her hand. Steve looked back down and...yeah. There he was.

Exhausted still, bruised in some invisible way, but unmistakably present, eyes glimmering as they flicked happily around the pack. 

Yeah. There he was. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, there, daaa, jaaa, mmmm, ba, padada...” Tony burbled, the babies eyes fixed on his mouth and a chubby little hand reaching out to feel what his lips are doing. He grins and lips gently at her fingers, both their faces lit up with glee. 

Steve, watching, hasn’t been able to speak for at least five minutes, enthralled by the peace and playfulness Tony’s exuding everywhere.

He’s keeping Emmie away from his scent spots, which are shining, out of courtesy for her Moma. She’ll be back in a few hours and doesn’t need that kind of attention while she’s finishing the conference circuit with her little one in tow. 

Speak of the devil, the baby reaches out for the sides of Tony’s neck and he deftly hoists her up in his hands, holding her above his head and making whooshing noises. 

Steve expects tears any moment, he’d be hard pressed not to feel bad if Tony rejected him like that, but she’s giggling with a big, open mouthed smile and kicking her legs vigorously. 

“Yeah, you’re a flier, aren’t you, Emmie, gonna learn to fly a plane, hmm?” Tony swoops her through the air slowly and gently, a low curve that ends with them both on the playmat. She, plomped down on her belly, kicks and wriggles onto her back, and flails her arms in Tony’s direction.

“Oh,  _ again,  _ huh?” Tony asks, letting her grab his fingers and wriggling them like two little finger puppets. Steve has no idea how he got ‘again’ from her wriggling and squealing, but she goes into a vigorous flail and waggles his fingers. 

“Alright, hUP we go!” Tony scootches his hands under her and they’re off, Tony lifting her up like she’s flying again. He makes jet engine noises this time, and she’s all laughter and smiles. 

Tony catches his eye, makes eye contact, and his smile is carefree and full of sunshine. Steve hadn’t thought-- but then, what did he know, huh? Tony’d never talked about kids, except in the context of the Tower’s daycare Lego collection. ( _ It’s a stark contrast with last week, with Tony catatonic on the floor, taking Steve down with him and too blank to even seek comfort--)  _ A warm scent message reaches him as Tony comes over, baby bouncing against his hip with her hands clenched on his shirt.  _ Affection, reproach, apology _ . 

“Don’t smell like that, Steve. What’re you even thinking about?” 

He smiled tremulously, feeling as soon as it was on his face that it wouldn’t be convincing. “You’re really good with her, it’s...great. Real nice. To see.”

“Yeah, I like kids. They’re all potential and games.” Tony hitches her up a little higher, and she tucks her hands against her chest, planting her cheek on his collarbone. He rubs his thumb over his scent and plants the silver mark playfully on Steve’s forehead. “Answer the question, babe.” 

Steve’s smile strengthens, feels real again, and he rubs the silvery scent into his forehead with his palm, erasing the visible evidence and making the scent stronger. “Just remembering last week. Don’t worry about me.” 

Tony bumps him with his hip and leans over to pick up a bundle off the table with his free hand. “Don’t worry about my mood swings, Steve. They happen, and you all did exactly the right things.” Tony smiles and shakes out the bundle into a scarf, which he uses to cover his scent spots. “Manhattan’s a big place to be queen of, you know. Sometimes, if the City gets sad when I’m not around, coming back to it sets me off.” 

Steve blinks twice, then his eyes widen. “The anniversary! The day before you got back.” 

Tony nods, his smile a little sad, definitely solemn. “If I’d been here, I could have gone to the service, and I would have been okay, undignified and probably swamped with other people crying too, but. Not like that.” He wraps the scarf again, tucking the end in, and lifts Emmie up into the crook of his neck. She tucks her face into it and breathes a big sigh, looking half asleep. 

“We’ll try and find you sooner, next time... you sure there’s nothing--” 

“You did perfect, Steve, really. I-- you’re really in tune with your nose, Steve, you follow it and... well, good communication is the key to a good relationship, right?” Tony’s  _ blushing _ , rubbing Emmie’s back and swaying gently, avoiding Steve’s eyes by looking down at her playmat. 

“I--... Yeah. I can do that.”

Tony rewards him with an embarrassed but jubilant smile, his scent all relaxed and sleepy to match Emmie’s mood. “I’m gonna settle in with her for a nap, okay?” 

Steve nods, looking back at his paints scattered across the table and wondering if he can pick them back up. He finds he doesn’t want to, the raw battlefield imagery is...antithesis. 

“Come  _ on _ , Steve. Tidy up later.” 

Steve jerks and looks up to find Tony standing in the doorway to the sun room, waiting expectantly. “Oh, I don’t need a nap, I, uh...” 

Tony’s eyes soften, deepen. “Captain.  _ Steve. _ Come guard my sleep.”

Steve swallows and  _ goes _ . Because god damn him but apparently Tony is better at knowing what he wants than he is. He brings his sketchbook, leaving the painting behind to dry, the billowing cloud of ak-ak fire half finished against a grey sky. 

He meets Tony at the door and leans weakly against him for a moment, just... just a second, to breathe in the smell of a happy queen and to reassure himself that Tony is okay, he’s here and he’s happy and he’s looking after a  _ baby _ , who’da thought it. 

They settle in the sun room, Tony and Emmie on a lounger and Steve finding an angle that shows them both, bathed in warm sunlight. 

She fusses a little, not happy to lie on her front, and Tony rolls over so she can lie on her back in the curve of his body, little fist wrapped around his finger. She blinks sleepily at the patterns cast on the ceiling by the reflecting pool under the window and kicks her feet. 

Tony starts to humm a quiet, lilting tune that Steve suspects is the instrumental from a dad-rock band. It does the trick and Emmie’s attention stops wandering, fixed on the ever-changing sound until she drifts off to sleep. 

Tony follows her down a few minutes later, the smell of sleep making Steve drowsy and vigilant simultaneously. He picks up his pencil and starts to draw.

Emmie will be on her way back to Chicago soon, her Moma needed back in her queenship, and Steve wants to have something of this moment to keep forever.


End file.
